


It's Happening Today, Valentine, Valentine

by KissingWinchesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Community: smpc, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Sam Winchester, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissingWinchesters/pseuds/KissingWinchesters
Summary: Sam hates Valentine's Day. When you're in love with your brother, it kinda sucks.





	It's Happening Today, Valentine, Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Follow the link at the bottom of the fic to see the amaaaaaaazingly beautiful art by merakieros to acompany the fic.

The coroner is a stout man pushing sixty five, pale blue eyes and a pointed nose. He’s got a military haircut and a beergut, which makes Sam think that the short back and sides is just decorative and not a remnant from any actual experience in service.

Dean must think the same because he scowls every time the doc’s belly accidentally bumps into him. Definitely not the style of ex-military.

“Never seen nothin’ like it ma whole life,” the doctor says, rubbing his chin and peering into the peeled open ribcage of the body lying in front of him, his nose almost brushing the jagged flesh. “A damn sicko did this, I tell ya.”

Sam nods and glances at Dean who at that same moment glances at Sam.

No clue, their eyes say to each other, and they both look back at the corpse.

“Tox come back clean?” Dean asks, lifting a page of the doctors chart up with one finger.

“As a whistle. Mr Dietrich died as a result of his injuries.”

“Hm.” Dean mirrors the coroner and leans over the body, eyebrow raised and the mess of junk the killer left in place of the victims organs.

“Well, gentleman I have papers to fill. Can you find your way out?”

“Yeah, thank you.” Sam answers for Dean who’s now prodding around in the body with the end of a pen.

“Ever seen a magpies nest, Sammy?”

Sam squints picks up some tweezers.

“Is that a diamond ring?”

“This thing crammed everything it could in here,” Dean muses, scooping the ring up on the end of his pen. “Hey, are you a traditional bride or don’t you mind if I don’t go down on one knee?”

Sam stops trying to think of what objects had been found in the first body, trying to spot any links to help figure out what’s doing this, and glares at his brother.

Dean’s grin falls to a smirk and then to nothing.

“That might be his wife’s, Dean.”

Sliding the ring off his pen back into the body, Dean bins the pen and puts his hands on his hips.

“The husbands ring was in the last one. That’s gotta be something, right?”

Sam nods and takes his emf reader out of his jacket pocket.

“Nothing,” he says, frustrated when it stays silent.

“Same as Ella Coleman. And her wounds looked like this, torn open not cut with a blade. Something with claws did this.”

Sam doesn’t agree or disagree. They know nothing and the research they’ve done so far has come up empty.

“Lets hit the books.”

Dean taps Sam’s arm and they head out, stopping at the library first but leaving empty handed. A new build that still smells like fresh paint and with more interest in Harry Potter than the occult. Sam is already tapping away on his phone as they pull up to their motel. It looks just as gaudy and over the top as Sam remembers, however hard he’d tried to block it from his memory.

“Lovers Lane” was literally the only place that had a vacancy when they’d swung into town that morning. Aimed at newlyweds and honeymooners, desperation was the only reason Sam had agreed that they even tried getting a room there. Dean of course had found it hilarious.

“The room should be ready now, right? Get the bags and I’ll get the key,” Dean says, getting out of the car and striding into the lobby.

Rolling his eyes, Sam unfolds his legs and steps onto the pristine asphalt, leaning against the impala. He eyes the white doors stretching out on either side of him, dreading what lies on the other side.

Valentines weekend stuck in a loved up motel with his clueless brother… yeah, Sam is in hell.

“Hey.” Dean’s fingers snap in front of Sam’s eyes. “Bags? No? Ring a bell?”

Dean sighs dramatically and tosses Sam the key to room two while he gets their stuff out of the trunk.

“We hit the jackpot here, Sammy. Thank god for the brides who realise they’d rather walk down the aisle with their bridesmaid than the groom.”

Dean winks, but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes,” Dean says, letting them into the room and whistling.

The room is beyond decadent, better than anywhere they’ve stayed before. There’s even a…

“Hot tub! Yes!” Dean drops the bags and goes over the private deck through the kitchenette.

Sam shrugs out of his jacket and eyes the huge California king before sitting down on the large couch facing it. He takes his laptop out of his bag and opens it up.

“Can you believe this place?” Dean is grinning from ear to ear when he comes back inside.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Sam mutters, head already buried in his search engine.

“Better than great. It cost us half what we usually pay for the dives we usually stay in. And we get all of this free stuff.”

Dean points to the roses and chocolates on the coffee table and waggles his eyebrows.

“We’re not on vacation. Or honeymoon,” Sam says, hating how nagging he sounds.

“I know that,” Dean replies, opening cupboards and then the fridge, snapping his fingers when he finds a chilled bottle of champagne. “But the wife is sedated so we can’t interview her until tomorrow and I’ve already looked through dad’s journal twice.”

Sam rolls his eyes and Dean pops the cork, taking a drink right out of the bottle and then pouring some into a glass for Sam.

“C'mon, it’s free,” Dean says, nudging Sam’s knee with his own and shoving the glass into his hand.

Sam sighs and shrugs and thinks what the hell. His shoulders feel tense and there’s a pain growing behind his eyes so a few glasses of bubbly might take some of the edge off. The alcohol content probably isn’t even that high, but the taste is sharp and sweet and Sam swallows half the glass without even thinking.

He heard Dean chuckle and move away to explore some more and Sam loses himself in the words on his screen. Whatever this thing is, it’s not anything that many people have come across before. Sam finds texts about similar killings, going back hundreds of years, but nothing quite fits.

“Magpie…” Sam says aloud, something Dean said in the morgue scratching at his thoughts.

“You got something?” Dean comes out of the bathroom still holding the champagne. Sam doesn’t even want to know why Dean took it in there with him.

“Maybe, no.. I don’t know yet.” He rubs his eyes and sits back. He’d been bent over his laptop and now his back is straight it aches like a bitch.

“Guess what I found in there, Sammy.”

“More freebies?”

“Naughty freebies.” Dean brings his hand from behind his back and holds up a strip of lube packets, condoms, and a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs.

Sam wrinkles his nose and stands up, massaging the base of his spine with his fingertips.

“Put those down. You’ll catch something.”

“Dude, they were in plastic.”

“Whatever, I’m going to shower. I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere until we’ve spoken to Mrs Dietrich.”

Dean looks a little guilty and puts his hoard down on the bedside table before getting Sam’s laptop and stretching out bed.

“I have a crack while you’re in there, ok? We could both use some food and a few hours sleep.”

Sam nods and starts to undress even before he’s through the bathroom door.

Above the sink, where regular people keep there toothbrushes and soap, is a shelf littered with “naughty goodies”. The selection Dean brought out will him was only a sample of the selection of lube and condoms, every variety you could think of.

Sam knows it’s a hotel aimed at newlyweds but come on, this is excessive. He picks up a tube of pink tinted lube and reads how it’s meant to enhance the strength of orgasm by up to twenty percent.

“Twenty percent?” Sam says under his breath, undoing his suit pants and pushing them over his hips and then kicking them off. “How do you even measure them?”

He shakes his head and pulls back the shower curtain. Luckily there aren’t anymore goodies in there. Sam turns the water on and holds his hand under the spray until it goes hot, his mind wandering to things it shouldn’t.

“Uh, Sam? Can you… can you come here. I need help.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but goes to see what the hell Dean has done.

“Save me, Sammy! I’m shackled!”

Dean wriggles his arm where he’s attached himself to the bedpost with the crappy sexshop handcuffs. It’s meant to be funny, meant to make Sam pissed off so they can argue and laugh and be brothers like they should be. All it’s doing to Sam though is turning him on.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Aw, come on, Sam! You’re meant to rescue me!” Dean’s voice gets louder as Sam stomps back into the bathroom, shutting the door hard enough that the frame rattles.

Damn Dean for being himself. Sam closes his eyes and leans back against the door.

***

“Stop exaggerating.”

Dean frowns and keeps rubbing his back. He’s been doing it since they left the motel. His not so subtle way of letting Sam know that he’s suffering from sleeping on the pull out and not the luxurious bed.

“You didn’t sleep on the floor and I won the bed. Get over it.”

Dean pulls his face and yawns. They’re walking up the drive to Mrs Dietrich’s sunny little town house. From the outside, it’s hard to believe a man was gutted in there, but both the Winchesters know that looks are almost always deceiving.

Sam rings the doorbell and waits, adjusting his tie and keeping his hands still even though they’re restless. He doesn’t know why, but he’s on edge. This case is off somehow, and Sam hates that they’re not getting answers.

“Think she’s still drugged up?” Dean says, just as Amy Dietrich opens the door.

“I’m not a zombie today,” she says, but her words are slow, careful, and Sam clears his throat to get her attention.

“Mrs Dietrich, I’m agent Byers, this is my partner agent Hopper.” They both hold up their badges and smile sympathetically. “Would it be ok to come in to talk?”

Amy nods and turns back into the house. Dean gives Sam a “well this is going to be a disaster” look and they follow her in.

The house is tidy, clean, and devoid of any life. There aren’t any photos anywhere, no homely touches, and Sam can’t shake the creeping feeling of dread prickling his skin.

“Would you, um, like a drink? Coffee?”

“Coffee, sure. We’ll wait in here.” Dean steps into the sitting room leaving Sam standing awkwardly with the widow.

“I’ve got no milk. I’ve not been to the store…”

“Black coffee is great, thanks.” Sam smiles and follows Dean, jabbing him in the back with his finger.

“She’s giving me the creeps. Thought we could snoop in here while she’s in the kitchen,” Dean says, opening a cabinet. “Hm…”

“What?” Sam stands behind his brother and peers inside. “A wedding photo?”

“Yeah. Huh, she doesn’t look like a woman on the best day of her life.”

Sam takes a closer look, crowding up to Dean’s back. Richard Dietrich is glowing, smiling, the very image of a happy groom. Amy, on the other hand, looks like she doesn’t really care if she’s there or not.

“How long were they married?”

“Said two years in the file, but together for five before that.” Dean glances at Sam and Sam takes a step back, clearing his throat and taking his notebook out of his jacket pocket.

Amy comes in a few seconds later carrying two mugs of coffee, passing them each one and then sitting down on the edge of a large armchair. She looks uncomfortable.

“Have a seat,” she says, tugging the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands. “I don’t know what I can tell you that would help. I told the sheriff everything already.”

“People can sometimes remember things after some time, Mrs Dietrich,” Sam says, giving Amy a sympathetic look. “Would you walk us through what happened that day?”

Amy nods and proceeds to tell them everything she can remember. She woke up, had breakfast, went to the gym and showered. Her husband had been working late and was still in bed when she’d left.

“What was he working on?” Dean asks.

“Richard’s an IT consultant. He’d been working at a company that was restructuring, it was a manufacturing company… I don’t know much about it.”

“Had he been working late a lot recently?”

“The last few months yes.”

“That must have been hard for you,” Sam adds, taking up the thread of Dean’s questioning seamlessly. “Were you having any problems?”

Amy shrugs, but avoids looking directly at either of them. Sam and Dean share a look and it’s like they’ve spoken aloud. She’s keeping something back, they’ve seen it a thousand times before.

“Mrs Dietrich, is there anything about what happened that day that was unusual? Something strange?”

Amy’s eyes sharpen at Dean and she slams her fist against her knee.

“Apart from my husband being brutally murdered?!”

Sam takes over again and Dean stays quiet, looking around the room for anything else off. When he doesn’t find it he excuses himself to use the bathroom and heads straight for the victims bedroom.

There’s crime scene tape across the door and Dean ducks underneath it, scanning the room before pulling his emf reader from his pocket. He doesn’t get any readings, but he didn’t expect to.

There’s no signs of struggle, not a spot of blood anywhere, and when Dean checks the window ledge he’s not surprised to find it unmarked. Whatever this thing is, it’s good.

Dean opens some drawers, not really looking for anything but hoping to anyway, but he’s been in the “bathroom” long enough now and starts to leave to go and rejoin Sam.

As he walks down the stairs, he can hear the gentle timbre of Sam’s voice, followed by the decidedly more chatty sound of the widow. Dean smiles to himself.

That’s my boy, he thinks.

***

“So, did you charm her enough for her to spill?”

Sam glances at Dean and glares, but he’s only doing it for show. After the lifetime they’ve spent together, they’ve got a partnership that other hunters would kill for. Amy wasn’t going to open up to Dean and they both knew it.

“Richard called her that day, not long before he died according to the docs notes.”

“And? What did he say? He’s having an affair, right?”

Dean snaps his fingers and starts to undo his tie. He never could stand wearing one, no matter how good he looks. Sam watches his brother’s fingers slide over the silky material and pop open the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Uh, no actually… she had thought he was having an affair, but she says she made a mistake. She was jealous and suspicious, even before they got married.”

“Explains the photo,” Dean says, fishing out his keys when they reach the Impala.

“Richard was just a happy, easygoing guy. He was a bit dumb, but not a bad guy.”

“Dumb? Why?” Dean gets in the car but doesn’t start her up.

“His wife was unhappy and he didn’t know. He wasn’t much of a communicator, Dean.”

“Maybe not, but she could have said something to him about it without going right to the cheating asshole card.”

“Uh, anyway… that’s not… the phone call he made, it was almost exactly like the one Ella Coleman made to her husband before he found her dead. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Sam gets his phone out and Dean pulls out onto the road.

“So what did he say on the call?”

“That they needed to talk and for Amy to come home right away. It was urgent, enough that Amy left work before her shift was over.”

“Hm.” Dean taps the steering wheel and accelerates around a dawdling fiat. The sun is high and they haven’t eaten breakfast and Dean can’t focus on this mystery monster.

Sam’s tapping away on his phone, sighing frustratedly, and it’s too hot to do anything but roll down the windows and lean into the breeze.

“We need lunch,” Dean announces, his stomach growling in agreement, and Sam doesn’t say a word when Dean parks up at the next diner they come across.

They walk in and Sam barely looks up from his phone. Dean is trying to see what other people are eating to help decide what he’s going to have when a perky waitress cuts them off mid stride.

“Hey, there! Welcome to Darcie’s. Are you boys here on a date?”

Sam’s eyes snap up and Dean snorts at Sam’s immediate discomfort.

“We have a Valentine’s special this weekend. Free pie for every couple, regardless of gender. We’re very open minded here at Darcie’s. Love is love, am I right?”

“You’re right. So right,” Dean says, nudging Sam in the ribs.

He might as well be drooling. Sam sighs. Dean is a pain in the ass but Sam isn’t a jerk and Dean would be insufferable if he was denied pie. And who would be the one suffering him. Sam. Yeah.

“Yeah, we are.” Sam puts his arm firmly around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him close. “First date.”

Dean makes a choking noise but recovers quickly, batting his eyelashes at the waitress and looking as shy as a virgin. He’d make a hell of an actor if he wasn’t a hunter, Sam thinks with a smirk.

“I sure hope you have a table free. I was so nervous I totally forgot to book.”

The waitress clasps her hands together and beams at them.

“Oh my god, you’re both so adorable. We certainly do have room, follow me.”

Once her back is turned Dean snickers into Sam’s ear. They’re still pressed against each other like a pair of lovestruck teens. The warning glance Sam gives his brother doesn’t do anything and Dean slips their hands together, keeping them joined over the tabletop even after they’ve sat down.

“Ok, so, because it’s your first date and all, and because you’re so damn cute. I’ll be sure to get you both a piece of pie each. Usually, it’s one to share, but I think you’ll manage both.”

“Oh, we will,” Dean purrs, striking Sam’s knuckles.

“Well, my names Gloria, I’ll be back in a tick with your menus.”

Sam catches her saying something along the lines of “so cute” as she walks away and Sam yanks his hand out of Dean’s grip.

“Oh, don’t be like that, it’s our first date,” Dean says.

“Stop it. I only said that so you’d get pie. I was being nice so you can tone it down.”

Dean pouts around a smile and touches the heart shaped paper chain lining their table.

“You’d make a great boyfriend. Sacrificing your pride to get your beau pie.”

Sam frowns. “Did you just say beau?” He presses his thumb into his palm. It’s tingling, sort of like that feeling you get right before pins and needles, like the echo of Dean’s touch is lingering on his skin.

“Whatever,” Dean says, tapping Sam’s ankle with his boot. “Anyway, I can’t tone it down.”

Sam’s stomach swoops. He swallows, looking around to see where Gloria’s got to, suddenly desperately thirsty.

“Why not?”

Dean reaches across the table and runs his fingertips over Sam’s hand.

“Got to make it believable, right?”

“Oh, just look at you two.” Gloria is pretty much melting as she hands them both a menu. “Can I get you boys a drink before you order?”

“No, uh… we’re ready to order now. Right, Dean?”

Rubbing his chin, Dean looks from Sam to Gloria and back, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

“Can I get the Waldorf salad and coffee, please? Dean, what are you having?”

“Uh,” he scans the menu and then looks at table opposite. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s the valentines special. A heart shaped burger with the works. You should both have one, it’s so romantic.”

“I’m good with the salad thanks.” Sam picks up his phone and opens the page he was looking at before they passed through the gates of hell, otherwise known as Darcie’s.

Gloria takes the menus and leaves and Sam tries to get his mind back to the case.

“I found this.” Sam hands his phone over and continues while Dean looks at it. “Only a few mentions of it, and I couldn’t even find a name, but there are a few records of a creature who imitates the voice of its victims. That could be what we’re dealing with?”

“You’re thinking that’s what the phone calls were? This creature imitating the victims to lure their partners back to the house?”

Sam nods and takes his phone back.

“But why not kill them both? And what the hell is with leaving the crap in their chests?”

“I don’t know.” Sam puts his phone down hard on the table and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out, Sam.” Dean’s smile is genuine, and Sam feels a different kind of tug in his chest.

“Well, here we are, lovebirds.” Gloria appears like a genie carting their food. “Enjoy, and make sure you leave room for pie.”

Sam and Dean both smile at her, but she doesn’t go far from their table, much to Sam’s irritation. She starts cleaning a few newly vacant tables, too close to them to not be able to hear their conversation. Dean’s wolffish grin isn’t a good sign.

“Do you want half of this, sweetheart. It’s delicious, you’d love it.”

“You… want to share?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, cutting the burger in half and giving Sam a wink. Gloria glances at them and practically swoons.

Sam reaches over and plucks the burger from Dean’s hand, biting into it and moaning.

“You’re right, it is delicious.” He sucks some juice from his thumb, satisfied to see Dean’s eyes widen. If Dean’s going to push this, then Sam is going to take advantage, make him suffer.

“Uh, yeah. It is.” Dean looks at his much smaller lunch sadly.

“I’d love some fries. You’re so good to me,” Sam grins, swiping some of Dean’s fries.

“Come on,” Dean whines.

“You want pie or not?”

Huffing out a breath, Dean sulkily continues to eat, shooting Sam glares every time Gloria’s back is turned.

“So this is what we know,” Sam says, finishing the last of the burger and starting on his salad. “Each victim was killed at home, their spouse received a phone call that may or may not be from their other half, they went home to find their husband or wife dead and filled with random stuff.”

“Ella Coleman and Richard Dietrich didn’t have anything in common,” Dean adds. They’d compared backgrounds on the victims and they hadn’t even shared a common interest. “Except they were happy.”

“What?” Sam’s fork stops in midair, a walnut falling back onto his plate.

“Think about it. Ella and Richard were happier with their relationships, and they were both clueless about their partners being unhappy. They had that in common.”

Sam frowns and immediately thinks of their relationship. Sure, they’re not married or anything, but they might as well be. Apart from the fact that it’s just Sam who thinks so. Dean is definitely the clueless one of the two.

“Whatever this thing is, maybe killing the happy one is how it gets its rocks off, ya know?”

“Maybe… but what about…”

Sam shuts his mouth when Gloria appears holding two plates, large slices of pie on each.

“I saw that you were done with lunch. Was everything ok for you both?”

“Just great,” Dean says, smiling widely and suddenly leans over the table and wipes something invisible from Sam’s lower lip. “Missed something.”

Sam’s face heats up and he can barely look at Dean. Unfortunately, the only other option available is Gloria who is swooning over the gesture.

“Now, who would like the apple and who would like the cherry?”

“Oh, Sam loves apple pie. Cherry is my favourite,” Dean drawls suggestively, making Gloria squeak with delight and scuttle off with their empty plates.

“You’re an asshole,” Sam grumbles, shoving his pie over to Dean. He couldn’t eat even if he wanted to, and the twisted part of him actually wants Dean to have the desert he loves so much.

“Mm, yeah,” Dean replies, digging in without hesitation, making noises that might sound exaggerated to other people’s ears, but Sam is well aware are pornographically real.

Sam drinks lukewarm coffee and thinks about gross situations to keep his dick calm. All the flirting, the valentines atmosphere, Dean… just Dean, it’s all too much. The simmering want that plagues Sam day after day is nearing breaking point. It’s threatening to flood Sam’s well built defences and drown him.

He knows Dean can’t help it. It’s nothing more than a joke to him, a good ribbing between siblings, like it’s always been.

Sam is alone in his consuming desire for his brother.

“God… this is so good,” Dean moans, actually closing his eyes as he savours each bite.

Sam picks up his phone and ignores both Dean and the throb between his legs. It had made sense, what Dean has noticed about the similarities in each killing. A distant memory flits from Sam’s grasp every time he tries to catch hold of it, but he’s sure he read something about a Japanese spirit that was mischievous as well as sadistic. Like everything with this case so far though, it’s nothing but a frustration.

“How are we going to find the next victim?” Sam says, not looking up. “What if the… whatever it is, moves to another town? We don’t have anything to go on, no way to find it…”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out, ok? We always do. Lets go back to Dietrich’s office or back to the library. Maybe there’s something we missed?”

Sam smiles at Dean’s sudden seriousness. He’s as much in the dark as Sam is, but his faith in them is unbreakable.

“Sure,” Sam says, picking up his fork and swiping some of the apple pie, making Dean lift an eyebrow at him. “What? It is free.”

Dean taps his boot against Sam’s and smiles, and for a minute or so they’re quiet. It’s a comfortable silence, comforting, and Sam lets himself pretend that this really is their first date. Would Dean try to kiss him? Yeah, of course he would. Sam would let him too. Sit side by side in the booth and let Dean kiss his neck, put his hand on his thigh… fuck, Sam would let him do anything…

“Sam?”

… he wouldn’t care they were in public. In fact, he’d like it. Everyone would see that Sam belonged to Dean and no one else. They’d see them and want what they have…

“Sam?!”

Blinking, Sam jerks in his seat.

“What?”

“Listen,” Dean hisses. He tilts his head in the direction of the booth behind him, oblivious to Sam’s flustered state or just uncaring.

Sam does as he’s told and listens, looking over Dean’s shoulder to where a man is sitting, his phone to his ear.

“But, I… I’m just on my lunch break, Tom, I can’t come home.. no, but - why are you acting like this? Can’t it wait until later? I can’t just leave work when I feel like it. An emergency? What? Are you alright?”

Dean’s back straightens, his jaw clenched. This is the lead they were searching blindly for, dropped right into their laps. It can’t be just coincidence.

“Ok, I’m coming home. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The man hangs up and nearly knocks into two people as he hauls ass from the diner as fast as he can.

Dean tosses too much money on the table and they follow him out to the parking lot.

***

“This can’t be right,"Sam says, trying to stay hidden while at the same time trying to peer through the window. "His husband is still alive.”

Dean sniffs and takes out a pick lock.

“Could be his boyfriend,” he says, edging over to their front door.

Sam nearly chokes and crouch walks over to Dean.

“The other victims were married so it stands to reason the thing likes killing married people. Are you insane, they’re in there, why don’t we just knock?”

Dean gets the door open and slips inside, pulling on Sam’s sleeve. The couple are talking loudly in the living room but from the sound of it they’re heading in the Winchester’s direction. Sam hustles them both into a small closet in the hall just as they come into view.

“I said I don’t remember,” one man says - Tom, the other guy had said his name on the phone.

“We spoke on the phone. I’m not imagining it. Look,” he pulls out his cell and thrusts it towards Tom, “a one minute three second call, fifteen minutes ago.”

“Paul… I don’t remember calling you,” Tom says, sounding miserable and distressed.

“You made it sound like it was an emergency.”

“I didn’t… I don’t…”

Sam doesn’t dare breathe. They never do things like this, and he doesn’t know what got into Dean, but it’s not escaped his notice how close they both are. One of Dean’s leg is raised, propped on a vacuum or something, and somehow he managed to shove it almost all the way between Sam’s legs.

It didn’t help that there are coats and things on the back of the door, pushing at Sam’s back and making him lean forward. Not somewhere he wants to be leaning right now.

There’s a soft clicking sound, and Sam thinks it’s Dean swallowing, but when it happens again, Sam catches sight of his brother licking his lips.

“I’m sorry, ok? Maybe I’m not feeling too good? I really don’t know.”

Sam can hardly see Dean in the semi dark, but he’s close enough to feel the heat of him… the smell of him… he’s so close…

“Should I call a doctor? Tom… something’s not right.”

Sam moves without thinking, he can’t help it, leaning ever closer… Dean’s lips are just there, and Sam wants to know what they feel like. It’s crazy, his rational mind is screaming at him, but there are bigger emotions driving him now… making him…

“We’re going to see Dr Scott. Come on, Tom.”

“Sam, they’re leaving,” Dean whispers, the soft brush of his breath suddenly right next to his ear. “We should follow them. Just to be sure.”

Sam closes his eyes and nods. He doesn’t know if Dean can see him but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t trust his voice not to break, doesn’t trust that it wouldn’t betray how near he came to ruining everything for his own selfish need.

There’s a grinding, crumbling vibration all around them, shaking the house. Dean puts his hands on Sam’s arms, wrapping around his biceps. He moves his head back and his eyes search for Sam’s, straining in the dim light. There’s a look on his face, only for a second, but Sam doesn’t recognise it.

“Sam! It’s here!” Dean yells and twists, kicking the doors almost off their hinges and drawing his gun.

Sam is right behind him, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans.

Tom is on the ground, tears streaking his face, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. In the far corner, the monster has Paul by the throat, the charred black skin of its hands stretching out to grotesquely long fingers that are more more claws than fingers.

It’s clinging to the ceiling like a spider, it’s black eyes full of rage.

Dean has the best shot at it, doesn’t even know if silver bullets will work, but he takes aim.

“No!” Tom is off the floor and launching himself at Dean. The shot rings out, but the bullet only grazes the creatures arm and not his head.

Paul drops heavily to the floor, crying out in pain as his legs go from under him. The creature roars and Sam sees it stare at its wound before the wall opens up and it disappears, the gravelly sound shaking the house again before going silent. There isn’t a mark on the wall where the creature was.

“Who the hell are you?! What was that?! Oh my god, Paul… talk to me baby. Please…”

“Tom… you, you saved me…”

“He saved you?” Dean marches forward, bunting Sam’s shoulder as he closes in on the two men huddled together like frightened rabbits. “He nearly got you killed.”

“You were pointing a gun at him!”

“No,” Dean says, gritting his teeth to keep from yelling, “I was pointing a gun at the monster trying to crush his windpipe.”

Tom pales and holds Paul closer. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and steps in front of him. A frustrated, pissed off Dean isn’t going to help the situation.

“Hey, uh… I get that all of this has been a shock.” Sam frowns when the two men flinch away from him and then remembers he’s still holding his gun. He puts it away and looks at Dean who puts his away too. “My name is Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean.”

***

After leaving a stunned but grateful Tom and Paul their number and some weapons, Sam and Dean head back to the motel. Dean is still amped up because of the creature getting away, but at least now they have something to go on.

“It looked like a tiny elf man that’d been in a furnace. Freaky bastard. What was with those finger claws?” Dean rubs the small of his back and stops pacing to look over Sam’s shoulder at the laptop screen. “It went into the wall, Sammy.”

“Listen to this, it sounds like a Pfenigaal, a Gaelic demon. It says here that there’s a local legend about a monster that used to stalk the streets of Kallykerry. People used to say that it would appear out of the walls and kill the wives of unfaithful husbands. It must have evolved its motives over the decades.”

“So this Fenny thing…”

“Pfenigaal,” Sam corrects.

“Whatever. It figures it’s teaching the unhappy one in the relationship a lesson by killing the happy one?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Sam replies. “There’s hardly anything written about it. And I’ve looked.”

“I know you have,” Dean says, squeezing Sam’s shoulder and moving away. “If you can’t find much on it then it must be rare. Ok, so what do we do?”

“It was just luck overhearing Paul on the phone. I don’t know how we can find it again without luring it with another couple, which we can’t do so…” Sam rubs his eyes, the glare of the screen making his head ache.

“Hm.” Dean looks like he’s thinking about something, but like the moment Sam witnessed in the closet, it’s gone before Sam can interpret it. “We can’t do anything else tonight.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m gonna keep looking,” Sam says, taking a few more books from his duffle. “We still don’t know how to kill it.”

“Alright, well I’m going to make use of the hot tub.”

Dean rubs at his back again and then starts to unbutton his shirt. The disadvantage of being in a motel for honeymooners is that the level of privacy is even worse than normal.

“You’re not still going on about the bed?” Sam follows Dean with his eyes as he walks over to hot tub and lifts the cover. Steam billows out and Dean dips his finger into the water, humming in pleasure at the temperature.

“I switched it on this morning so it’s had plenty of time to heat up. And the bed is bullshit.”

Dean removes his shirt and pulls his t-shirt over his head, turning around to look at Sam.

Sam turns away.

“You should get in, Sammy. Might loosen you up a bit.”

Sam wants to say that it might make him do more than loosen up. That the way his heart is racing might make him do something stupid like kiss his brother - his naked, wet brother, all pink from the heat of the water.

Dean kicks off his boots and whips off his socks before his hands rest over the button of his jeans. He pauses for a second but then he strips, no shame, no embarrassment, just takes off the rest of his clothes with Sam sitting only a few feet away.

“Can we get one of these for the bunker?” Dean turns and cups his junk while he hitches one leg over the edge of the tub.

“No, you’d never get out of it.”

“Ahh, yess…” Dean steps into the hot tub and sinks down, and Sam looks up just in time to see the round swell of his ass disappear. “Dude, you’ve got to try this.”

“I’d rather not. You enjoy stewing in there.”

Dean moans and tilts his head back against the edge of the tub.

“Come on, Sam. You’re making me feel guilty in here.”

Sam sighs. Dean can’t even relax for a few minutes without feeling guilty. Yes they’re on a case, but if Dean can have a short time for himself then damn it Sam is going to let him have it.

“I really don’t want to get in, Dean. But, I could use a break. Do you want a beer?”

Dean’s eyes open and his head snaps up.

“Sounds good,” he says. Sam isn’t sure if the fact that Dean is getting a beer or that Sam is joining him in a drink that’s making him sound so happy.

Sam stands and tries to adjust the press of his dick in his pants without Dean noticing. He’s glad of the coolness of the fridge to kill his inappropriate hard on. Taking a deep breath, Sam walks over to the hot tub and hands Dean the beer. Luckily Dean has the bubbles on full blast so he doesn’t quite see anything he shouldn’t. Not that he doesn’t imagine it though.

“Hey, do you think Tom and Paul will be ok?”

Sam sits down on the edge of his bed. He feels drained, his blood buzzing where it shouldn’t, and heartsick. He feels that most of all.

“We showed them how to ward the house, and they both have weapons. Besides, it was shot, I think they’ll be safe enough tonight.”

“I didn’t mean that. Paul wasn’t happy in their marriage, Tom was and thought Paul was too. We kinda messed things up for them now they know.”

Sam looks down at his beer, picking at the label.

“The truth isn’t always better.”

“What?” Dean takes a long drink, his eyes fixed on Sam. His other hand comes up out of the water and slicks his hair back.

“Uh, I mean, they’ll be fine. They were pretty clingy when we left, right?”

“Yeah. Are you ok? You seem, I don’t know, weird.” Dean dunks down a little in the water, bubbles splashing up to his chin.

“I want to kill this thing, that’s all.”

“We will,” Dean says, his head lolling back again, exposing his throat. “Together.”

Sam brings his beer to his lips and drinks until it’s empty.

 

***

When Sam wakes up, Dean is already up and dressed. He’s got his Fed suit on again, the neck of his shirt open, and his tie draped undone around his collar.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he drawls when he sees Sam stir. “Tom just called. They’re both fine.”

“Good,” Sam says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“So I thought of a way we can draw barbecue bob out of the walls. We can lure him out.”

“Dean, I said that last night. We don’t have anyone to lure it with. It’s not like we can get a random couple off the street and I doubt Tom and Paul would agree to it.”

Pulling back the covers, Sam stands and gets dressed before walking into the bathroom. He should have shut the door because mid pee, Dean pokes his head around the door.

“People mistake us for a couple all the time.”

Sam concentrates on peeing.

“We could ham it up a little, make like one of us is the Paul of the relationship - I was thinking you could do that.”

Sam finishes and washes his hands. They shake a little under the water.

“You just act all pissy with me and the Pfenigaal will come and try to kill me. We kill it, job done.”

Sam pushes past Dean into the other room. Everything over the past few gruelling days, hell… years, are all battling against Sam’s resolve to stay quiet. He’s angry, with himself for being this way, and with Dean for not knowing.

“It’s perfect,” Dean continues, standing way too close and smelling so good, clean from the shower with a hint of cologne. “And its Valentine’s Day, Sammy. I’ll take you on another date, huh? That’ll get the Pfenigaal’s buttons pushed.”

“Dean, just stop.” Sam’s tone is clipped, but his voice is louder than normal, his anger forcing its way out of him.

“What? Why? Who else are we going to get? Like you said, tom and Paul wouldn’t be up for it.”

“We can find another way.”

Dean snorts and takes a step closer to Sam. He smiles, that twinkle in his eyes that Sam just knows means trouble.

“There’s no need,” Dean continues. “Look, I know I ate all the chocolate they left in the room but I can get you more, romance you a bit, then you just act all huffy and the little douche will come crawling. Huffy is natural for you, come on.”

Dean touches Sam then, Sam isn’t even sure where - his elbow maybe, but it’s like a live wire. Sam jolts away, breaking Dean’s contact.

“I said no, Dean. I’m sick of this.”

“Um, sick of what? What’re you talking about?”

Sam turns, wanting to walk away, but there’s really nowhere to go so he spins back in Dean, his hands clenched into fists.

“You, being all… flirting with me and saying stupid things that make it seem like we’re…” Sam forces himself to take a breath. “I’m sick of it, alright?”

Dean blinks a few times, an incredulous breath coming from his nose, and then he smiles. The kind he always gives Sam when he thinks he’s being a drama queen. Sam doesn’t hate any smile of Dean’s, but this one comes damn close.

“Are you serious?” Dean’s smile widens, and he laughs. When Sam doesn’t laugh back, his smile wavers. “It’s only a joke, Sam. I mean, I meant it about us luring the Pfenigaal, but… the other stuff, it’s just us messing around. Why’re you so angry?”

And that’s it. Right there. Dean doesn’t know why Sam is so angry, why he’s so upset, and irrational as it is, that fact makes Sam even more angry.

“I need to go. I need some air.”

He marches to the door and slams it behind him, cutting of the sound of his name being called. Sam rounds the corner of the motel quickly, sure that once Dean has snapped out of his confusion, he’ll be right on Sam’s heels.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sam counts his breaths, failing miserably to slow his heart beat. He’s fucked if he knows how he’s going to bullshit his way out of the hole he just dug himself, and it’s not Dean’s fault, but a part of him wishes Dean wasn’t so clueless.

“No…”

No. Because that would mean Dean finding out that Sam is in love with him, wants to fuck him, wants to tear his clothes off and kiss every inch of him. Sam wants Dean. Every part of him. Body and soul. But most of all, Sam wants Dean to want him too, and that’s never going to happen.

Sam makes it to the next street before his phone vibrates. So Dean is too lazy or too pissed off to follow him? That’s good, Sam doesn’t think he could handle seeing Dean right now. They have a job to finish, but if Sam doesn’t have time to get his head straight he’s going to fuck that up too.

Sighing, Sam picks up.

“Dean, leave me alone. I’ll be back in twenty, ok?”

“Come back to the room.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Dean, can’t you just… ughh, never mind. I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t hang up, Sam. I need you to come back right now.”

Sam frowns and stops walking. There’s a clicking, a tapping, almost like fingernails on a table. Dean’s breathing is strained.

“Dean?”

“We need to talk. About us. Please, come back to the room. I need to see you.”

Blood drains from Sam’s face. That’s not his brother talking.

“Hold on, Dean. I’m coming”

Sam hangs up and starts to run. He’s such an idiot. Such an idiot. Of course the Pfenigaal has Dean. That’s what it’s been waiting for, for one of them to mess up, to be apart long enough for it to…

Sam runs faster, fear coursing through his veins, pure adrenaline and fury increasing with every step. His bones shake with the force of his feet hitting the pavement, and his gun is in his hand a split second before he kicks in the door to his and Dean’s room.

“DEAN!”

The creature has its talon like fingers around his brothers throat, a trickle of blood seeping from a cut next Dean’s eye. They’re about halfway up the wall, Dean’s boots dangling.

Upon seeing Sam, the creatures mouth widens, splitting its charred face to reveal sharp teeth, the inside of its mouth as burned as its skin appears.

“This one causes you pain,” the creature says, twisting Dean’s neck tighter. “So much pain.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Sam watches as Dean’s eyes roll back, his face turning an unnatural shade of red.

“Ungrateful,” the creature spits, its injured arm from where Dean shot it oozing black blood.

It’s keeping Dean right against him, making it difficult for Sam to get a clear shot, but if he doesn’t take one soon he’s going to lose Dean anyway.

“Take his insides,” the creature continues. “Leave you his shell, filled with trinkets, make you keep him like that.”

“Get your hands off him.” Sam raises his gun higher, not one tremor passes though his hands.

“Ohh, I won’t. I’ve had my fill of your pain, yes. Tasted you both over many years. Now you try to kill me, I kill you.”

“What do you mean?” Sam tries to steady his anger and the creature unclenches his hand slightly, letting Dean breathe.

“Yours is pain too pure to waste. Tasted you both, drank in your sick agony. This one hides better than you, his dark love. Yours simmers like acid under your skin.” The creatures tongue pokes out and runs over his bottom lip. It keeps Dean in front of it to stop Sam from pulling the trigger. “When I kill this one you’ll suffer knowing his corruption mirrors yours.”

“No, you… you only kill the person who’s happy. You…” Sam’s voice trails off as he realises what the demon is taunting him with.

“You see now. Yes, good.” The creature laughs, a scraping rasp through its pointed teeth.

The creature either doesn’t know who it’s dealing with or it doesn’t care, but whatever it thinks it’s underestimated Sam Winchester. Every time the thing squeezes Dean’s neck, it’s head raises a little higher, grinning more like it gives it a sick pleasure.

“You live with your pain forever now. I take him.”

The creatures squeezes Dean’s neck and Sam steps forward, no hesitation, and fires a bullet right through the centre of its skull. Dean drops to the floor, but the Pfenigaal remains on the wall, a shocked, frozen look of horror on its face. It’s blackened skin starts to crack and blister, and Sam rushes over to his brother, dragging him away from the wall as the creature disintegrates before his eyes.

“Hey, Dean… it’s ok, I got you.”

Coughing, Dean sits up, but he doesn’t watch the monster die. He can’t take his eyes off Sam.

“You ok,” Sam continues, his hands on Dean’s arms, on his face. “I’m sorry I left, I never thought… come on, let’s get you up.”

Sam helps Dean up onto the bed, the nearest one being Dean’s crappy pull out, and then squats beside him, looking up at Dean and checking that he’s breathing ok. He keeps his eyes on Dean’s neck, because he doesn’t know what he’ll see if he looks directly at him.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice sounds scratchy and strained. “I’m ok.”

Dean’s hands slide around Sam’s neck, touching him so gently that Sam feels the sting of tears.

“Hey, I’m here.”

Sam dares to look up, but what he sees can’t be real. The longing in Dean’s eyes can’t be real.

And then Dean kisses him.

It’s soft, but it’s not unsure, and Sam has to grab hold of Dean’s short to keep himself steady. Dean breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against Sam’s, and then kissing him again, firmer this time.

Sam doesn’t respond, he can’t, it’s like his brain has short circuited or something, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind.

He breaks the kiss again, strokes his thumb through the hair at the back of Sam’s neck.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Sammy.”

Sam shakes his head, his legs are aching from crouching still, but moving means moving from Dean and Sam would rather suffer the burn in his muscles than do that.

“The bastard got the jump on me,” Dean continues, wiping away a stray tear from under his eye. It streaks with the blood staining his face, the cut inflicted thanks to Sam. Dean didn’t say it, but he heard the unspoken “after you left” at the end of his sentence.

“I shouldn’t have gone,” Sam says, finding his voice finally, still holding onto Dean’s shirt like a lifeline.

“Don’t, that wasn’t your fault.”

Dean runs his hand down Sam’s neck and back, and then tugs on his arm until he gets Sam to sit next to him on the bed.

“I never meant to hurt you, Sam. I thought it was just me.”

“It’s not.”

Saying it out loud lifts the heaviest of weights from Sam’s shoulders, made even easier because Dean is saying it too.

“The jokes and everything, it was me trying to bury it…” Dean kisses Sam again, lingering, just lips on lips. It’s like it feels wrong to even think that way now. “I couldn’t let you even suspect that I thought about you like that. I told myself I could live with not having you if I could just keep you with me.”

Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug. They cling to each other, so tight that Sam can feel Dean’s heart beat against his chest.

“Dean, can we… I want to tell you everything, I do, but right now, would you please get on top of me?”

Sam leans back out of Dean’s arms and lays back against the bed, his elbows propping him up so that he can still see his brother.

Dean has that stunned mullet look again, but that passes quickly, and he’s crawling over Sam a second later, his mouth finding Sam’s again. This time, the kiss is bruising, desperate even, and Dean settles between Sam’s legs like he was meant to fit there.

Sam’s mouth opens eagerly to meet Dean’s tongue, and he digs his fingers into the firm, strong muscles in Dean’s back. There’s too much clothing between them, but Sam can’t stop kissing Dean for long enough to tell him that.

Instead, he makes do with tearing at the buttons of Dean’s shirt, getting to any skin that he can. Dean is hot to the touch, so hot, and Sam feels like he’s burning up himself.

Dean’s cock is hard against Sam’s, grinding infuriatingly slowly compared to the ferocious way Dean is kissing him. Sam needs more, so much more, so he hitches one leg up, his foot wedged against the wall. It gives him leverage to thrust up against Dean’s hips, and giving Dean a much needed push to get things moving.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean pants. “Yeah, so hard for me. I’ll take care of you.”

Sam moans, sounding wrecked to his own ears. It’s like a dream, and he can see the intense set of his features reflected in Dean’s eyes.

“Need to feel you, Dean. Can I?”

Dean nods, presses his lips against Sam’s and lifts his body up enough for Sam to get his hands between them. He opens his own pants first, hissing when he pulls his dick out of his boxers. Dean looks down their bodies, his teeth making dents in his bottom lip.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

“Haven’t seen you yet,” Sam replies, and when they look at each other, there’s laughter in their eyes.

Sam’s heart skips a beat. They’re still them, still brothers, and yet they’re so much more.

“Jesus….” Dean’s head drops down, his eyes closing in pure bliss as Sam’s fingers finally wrap around him.

He strokes Dean a few times, the familiar but newness of it against his palm something that Sam can’t wait to repeat, in great detail, very soon.

“Will you fuck me, Dean? After… when we’ve… I mean…”

Dean kisses Sam quiet.

“When we get home,” he says, nuzzling his nose into Sam’s cheek and inhaling. “Want to take my time with you.”

“Yeah,” Sam says softly, twisting his wrist. Dean thrusts into his hand and drags the head of his cock up Sam’s with every roll of his hips.

Sam reaches around Dean’s back with his free hand, loving the clench of Dean’s ass through his suit pants.

“Come on, Sam. Come on… ”

Sam grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut. He’s so close, can feel his balls tighten, the friction of his skin and Dean’s erection against his cock too good.

When it hits him, his stomach shudders, and he feels the hot slickness of his come coat his hand and spill onto Dean’s cock.

“Oh god, look at you… so good, Sam. Yeah… gonna, ahh…”

“Dean…”

Dean’s come splashes onto Sam’s stomach and his thrusts slow to stuttering jerks of his hips as the aftershocks of his orgasm travel through him.

Sam lets go of their cocks and curls his hand around Dean’s neck, dragging him down into a kiss. They kiss for what seems like forever, but eventually Dean drops down onto the bed next to Sam and rolls into his back.

Turning his head to look at Sam, Dean breathes in and out, rapid breaths coming through his contented smile.

“What? What’s that look?”

“I tell you I love you and you still won’t let me on the California king.”

Sam laughs and puts his hand over his eyes. The first time he and Dean have sex and its on Dean’s crappy pull out.

“Ok, fine,” Sam says, removing his hand and looking at his idiot of a brother. “Next time it can be on the other bed ok?”

“Ok,” Dean replies. He sounds sleepy.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You never said that you love me.”

“Oh. Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Sam smiles and touches Dean’s hand, puts his fingertips against his knuckles.

“I love you too.”

***

The next morning, Sam doesn’t say no when Dean asks him to join him in the hot tub.

They book the room for an extra night.

***

“Can’t we take it with us?”

Dean shoves the last of his clothes in his duffle and looks longingly at the hot tub. There’s ten minutes until they have to check out and Dean isn’t handling it very well.

“Hm, not unless you want to strap it on the roof of the car.”

Dean looks horrified but keeps pouting.

“Fine, but I’m taking the booze and chocolates.”

“Ok, you do that.” Sam kisses Dean as he walks past him to get his stuff from the bathroom. He doesn’t tell Dean that technically they can take that stuff because it’s included in the price of the room.

The goodie shelf is still fully stocked, apart from one bottle of lube that came in very useful, but if they’re taking the booze and chocolates then they might as well take all the condoms and extra lube too. They’ll definitely be needing them when they get back to the bunker.

Sam sweeps them into his wash back and smiles, picking up the pair of handcuffs before he goes back into the other room.

“Do you wanna take these home?” Sam swings them around his finger and lifts his eyebrows.

Dean looks up and pulls a face like Sam’s talking crazy.

“Sam, no.”

Sam’s smile drops.

“They’re way too flimsy,” Dean says, giving Sam a suggestive smile. “We can use the ones we already have at home.”

He winks and swings his duffle onto the shoulder and then walks out into the sunlight.

Sam tosses the handcuffs onto the bed and picks up his own bag, a warm feeling in his stomach. There’s no pain anymore, no heartache, no longing for something he can’t have. All there is now is Dean. Him and Dean against the world.

And it’s fucking awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the lyrics to 'Valentine's Day' by David Bowie (thanks andy)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Valentine, Valentine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643439) by [merakieros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merakieros/pseuds/merakieros)




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